The drollness of The Lockhorns

Camille is as good as her word. In the comments section of my "dogs suck" post she promised to bring me some form of repellent. By gum, she did. So now in addition to the Halt pictured previously, I've now got a bitchin canister of Sabre self-defense spray. I certainly hope I don't have to use either of them, but mongrels of the world please realize I have these at my disposal and I'm not afraid to use them. Bravado comes all too easy from the comfort of my padded chair in my air-conditioned office, natch.

Speaking of whom, Camille and Cybil both are pleased with their noms du blog. Cybil did think, mistakenly and worryingly, she was so named as a reference to our favorite Sally Field character not named Gidget or The Flying Nun. I assured her Ms. Field's Sybil was with an 'S' and that I was unaware of any similarities our Cybil may/may not have with any form of personality disorder, multiple or otherwise. Toilet talk to the contrary, of course.

Onward...

I got my first long run (read: double digits) out of the way on Saturday, a 12-miler. Thankfully, no mongrels made themselves known and the pending rain held off long enough for me to finish. Sometimes God smiles. The actual run went a little smoother than I had been expecting. A satisfactory, if not great, time (1:55). I felt the energy rapidly leaving my body somewhere during the last mile and was spent for the rest of the day. I suspect that the further along I get in my training the less these long runs will zap me. Which is not to say they get easier, it's just that one gets more conditioned to it. And this was the longest run I've done by about 4 miles since the marathon last January.

I get asked pretty frequently how I can go so far when he/she can barely go __ mile(s). Two quick answers: dedication and enjoyment. Yes, I actually enjoy running. This is a statement that even 5 years ago I would never have made. I am most definitely a super person (ahem), but a super athlete, not so much. A cursory glance at my times, and even personal best, will prove me correct.

Furthermore, while I'm in excellent physical shape, my physique is more akin to the average schmo than the average Olympian. One would be hard-pressed to confuse me with Usain "Lightning" Bolt and not just because I'm not Jamaican or black. In fact, aside from our love of nicknames and all around awesomeness, I suppose we have very little in common.

I digress.

But back to the enjoyment. It's an aspect I fully admit that non-runners likely find dubious at best and I've never been able to fully comprehend myself. I do know, however, that when running I generally don't think about distance. I'll set out with a specific mileage in mind and be aware where I am, but it's never an attitude of "Wow, only 13 more miles to go. This is positively stupid." At some point, I just get in the mindset of running and know that I'll be going until I finish, whether it's 1 mile more or 24. It's not really the so called "zone" people refer to when the difficult becomes simple--if only for a brief moment. Make no mistake, even as much as I run, it's never easy and the temptation is always there to convince myself to put it off until tomorrow, which is where dedication comes in.

It's just that at some point on these runs, I sort of zone out and lose track of everything. In a good way, that is. I don't really notice the scenery or that I've been in motion for longer than most humans would want to be. After a while, I don't even pay much attention to the music from the mp3 player; it just becomes an ambient soundtrack, i.e. Opeth might as well be Abba might as well be Sabbath might as well be The Shins. Not sure if that's just me or how other long distance runners cope as well, but when I'm able to almost remove myself from everything then I know I'm doing OK.

I would like to point out that though training will be part of the blog through the marathon, that's not all I'll write about. Who knows what other fun stuff/people will appear? Believe me, I've no interest in reading daily recaps of my runs so I can't imagine why anyone else would. If this is by chance the case for some, however, then allow me to suggest deconstructing Joyce instead. His references are far more erudite, convoluted and cryptic than mine. Or better yet, like me, just pretend to understand.

That is, after all, the American way.